Thank you
by DarkestAngellic
Summary: It's something you've yet to say to him.


**__****Disclaimer: I own nothing from FFVII, not the settings, not the characters, not the names. Nothing. I own absolutely nothing. It is all the property of the wonderful Square Enix.**

_**A/N:**_ Just some quick back-story before you read this fic, as it was inspired by RP events. At the end of DoC we find out that Chaos has returned to the Lifestream with Omega, that he's died. Skip after that and imagine that he's been released from the Lifestream with the task of safeguarding the Planet until its final days. He has his own body and his own free will, and _eventually _enters into a relationship with Vincent. Such is the scenario this fic runs off of. **If you do not like the Vincent/Chaos pairing in a romantic light, do not read further than this A/N. Thank you.**

* * *

It occurs to you - your lack of thanks - _several _years into the relationship, when he **finally **agrees to let you see him outside when the moon is full in the night sky.

It is a night he's uncomfortable with, uncomfortable in his own skin, so the gesture of trust on his part when he invites you to accompany him on one of the runs he undertakes to exhaust himself isn't overlooked. It's taken time, perhaps more than you'd like, for _all _of his walls to lower around you but that doesn't change the fact that you're perched on much higher ground than he, watching his flat-out sprints and sudden bursts of flight. How obvious it is that he is not human, with the _glow _of grey skin kissed silver by the moonlight, as though he's lit from within. Not overpowering by any means, a _soft _glow, but one that is inhuman all the same, and at odds with the pitch black irises you've only seen in the dark of night, 'between the sheets'. The Guard Hounds usually prowling the plains are silent and hidden; perhaps there is instinct in lesser creatures that a tertiary predator is on the roam tonight. No matter, it means your attention can remain solely on him, rather than suspecting ambush at even the slightest of noises.

He's a blur of pale silver and dark clothing, speed and power thrown together in one deadly form capable of toppling deities with his destructive tendencies and rebellious nature. Never before has he been so outright _different_, but you still don't care. His physical form could change, he could adopt the shell of a human once more, and you would still know it was Chaos. Bound as you are, bound as you had been, your soul knows his on a level no other could hope to match.

* * *

The realisation comes to you when he eventually succeeds in ridding himself of the restless energy, all but collapsing beside you and dragging in lungfuls of air like a drowning man managing to break the water's surface. The leather bodysuit has been unzipped and left to pool around his waist, letting the cool breeze whisper against his skin and the scars rendering it beautifully imperfect. It doesn't help much in quelling the wild set to his facial expression, the restlessness in each jerky motion and sudden twitch of flight limbs; perhaps it helps keep him grounded to reality? You know not.

But when he is sprawled in such careless ease, ancient eyes cast skyward and tongue silent, your gaze is free to roam over all six feet and seven inches of his leanly muscled frame. Always the scars catch your attention, hold it, draw you into a state of pondering even when you know how most of them have been sustained. The minor remainders of cuts and scrapes accumulated over the centuries, the impalement of a spear, the visible memories of gunshot wounds, the layers of heavily damaged tissue marking the place the Protomateria once resided. The passage of Weiss' swords through his chest.

And lower. The _one_ scar present on the WEAPON's body still lingering on a **_livid_**red colour, a twisting, ropey line of scarring where once he'd nearly been torn clean in two. A permanent reminder for the collision with Omega, the same collision _you _should have died in.

Only you hadn't, and you've never thanked the person responsible for saving your life that night.

* * *

Tension pulls the defined musculature into taut lines of unyielding steel beneath the scarred flesh, and you're acutely aware of the sudden lack of breathing. You look up - anyone else would find it a questionable position given how you straddle his legs and lean over his lower half - to meet the unblinking gaze you can _feel _boring into your skull. Inky blackness is **fixed **on you, but you're not unsettled by it. You know him well enough to understand the _slight _tip of his head to the left is an unconscious sign of curiosity, the tight line of seeming annoyance simply him gnawing over which words to voice without causing offence.

"Thank you, Chaos."

"- Whatever for?"

"For saving my life… you died in my place that day, didn't you?" Ah, there, the surprise. He'd thought you still oblivious to that knowledge.

"It would depend on how you regard the choice I had."

* * *

Again, your lips meet the permanently damaged tissue in the softest pressure, but instead of re-established tension there is a visible shudder. Not of pain, of something else, something you are fairly certain will be obvious in a few minutes. But to his credit, Chaos doesn't comment on it nor attempt to move, just stare at you for a few moments longer in companionable silence before his head falls back against the ground again. Claws locate your hand while he observes the stars, lacing gently with your fingers, squeezing lightly when you attempt to follow his gaze, attempt to see what he does. Or is he looking without truly seeing, letting memories resurface in quiet recollection?

"… You're welcome."


End file.
